As the football season nears its conclusion, fans across the country face elation or despair. Should we take it less seriously? Comedian Mark Watson says no; former England player Danny Mills says yes

No: Mark Watson

I'm not remotely embarrassed to say that some of the most memorable moments of my life have been supplied by football. As a six-year-old given special permission to stay up late and watch the 1986 World Cup final, I saw my uncle agonising over the fact that extra time would make him miss his train, and witnessed this normally reserved man dancing for joy as Argentina's late winner relieved him of his dilemma. More than 20 years later I would lose an entire night's sleep worrying about the outcome of a pivotal match between Bristol City and Rotherham United. (We won 3-1.) In between I have seen plenty of other reasonably sane people like myself weep, change travel plans, risk relationships, forge lifelong friendships, distractedly eat cigarettes they had meant to smoke, swear in front of grandparents, and walk around feeling 10ft tall, all for the sake of those 22 sweating men.

In the most literal sense, of course football is just a game. Even its most ardent fan – me, I believe, although it's not been measured scientifically – would have a hard time proving that it adds up to any more than 22 people running around in pursuit of a little round object, while a lot more people scream at them to do it better. None of the world's ills were ever cured by a goal, even the sweetest of left-foot chips over a stranded goalkeeper. Nobody has yet died because a dubious free kick was awarded (although in South America, a few referees have come pretty close). So, to be coldly rational about it, yes, football is nothing more or less than a game: and, you might add, a crassly over-marketed, over-hyped, over-analysed one at that.

However, the thing about being coldly rational is that it can destroy all life's pleasures in the same way. A film is just a bunch of wildly overpaid people reciting lines agreed upon by a committee of astute businessmen. The history of pop music is a simple set of chords being played in slightly different orders by people you mostly wouldn't wish to meet. Sex is pretty undignified, if you have the light on. We love all these things because we understand them not merely as the logical sums of their parts, but as experiences which somehow magically transcend the facts and make us feel something out of the ordinary. The key to understanding football mania is to realise that the same process is at work.

When any activity is able to have this effect on millions worldwide, it's unwise to underestimate it. If it were the religion it is often likened to, football would be Catholicism: badly regarded by many, frequently misguided, but here to stay. (And very big in Latin America.) The upwards-of-100-million people who love football can't all be wrong. Or rather, perhaps that many people can be wrong – a lot of people voted twice for George W Bush – but they can't all be imagining the power of football. A game it may be, but like it or not, its traditions, eccentricities and caprices have made it the most successful game ever devised by humans: and I include Hungry Hungry Hippos in that.

So next time your flatmate or partner comes back dejected from an unjust 1-0 defeat and you're on the cusp of saying, "Hey, it's only a game", consider saying instead: "It's only a game, but one with such extraordinary hold over the emotions that your melodramatic reaction is fully justified." Then gently change the subject before they demand to watch the highlights on iPlayer.

Yes: Danny Mills

I know what it's like to get dog's abuse from football fans. All sorts, from those who support the opposition to those who support your own team. Sometimes, when it got too much, me and my teammates would turn around and say, "Be fair lads, enjoy yourselves – it's only a game." They'd go crazy! It turned them into caged animals. They'd try to climb security fences, or get aboard the team bus to get hold of us. Because to some fans, football is their biggest passion, it's like life and death. Nothing annoys them quite as badly as being told it's only a game.

Players tend to be shrewder than that. Professionals play so many games these days that after a big win or a big loss, the highs or the lows, they know there's another 90 minutes a few days away that they have to prepare for. Not to mention all those highs and lows in the past that have been and gone. Players don't get too attached to individual matches. Five minutes after the whistle's gone you're thinking about next week. Fans won't thank me for saying it, but an awful lot of them would benefit from doing the same. People take football too seriously.

Early on in my career, I was one of them. If I had a bad match, I'd have a bad week, and so would everyone around me. Moody. Snappy. Why did I do that? Why did I do this? My family and friends got the brunt of it, and I'd go on churning. When I signed for Leeds in 1999, I was put under the stewardship of the midfielder David Batty. He was famous for being able to switch on and off between football and life. I learned a lot from him and other older, senior players – if you've given everything you can for 90 minutes, then there's nothing more you can do, so forget about it. All you can do is try to put it right next time. It was an important lesson.

Are there times when football becomes more than a game? Perhaps, when people's livelihoods are affected – as when a team is battling relegation and club employees face losing their jobs. And in truth my life would have been very, very different if I hadn't been promoted to the Premier League with Charlton in 1999, if we hadn't won a crucial match 7-6 on penalties. It changed everything for me, and I went on to play for England. But overall I think there's a tendency to get too caught up in 90 minutes, to get lost in the emotion of a result.

When my wife and I lost our son, Archie, to spina bifida in 2002, it put everything into perspective. What does football matter after that? A year later, I was in a hotel waiting to play a game against Blackburn and I got a phone call in the early hours of the morning to say that another of my sons was very ill, and had been taken to hospital with breathing problems. I went and found my manager straight away and told him – I'm going. And of course he understood. Your children need you, your instinct is to look after them first and foremost – are you going to worry about a football match?

When things like that happen, it becomes pretty apparent that, yes, football is only a game. I've been invited to go to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen through football; a fantastic honour, but I knocked the invitation back. Twenty-two boys (we like to be called men, but most of us are boys) having a bit of fun kicking a ball about. We can all get passionate about it in the moment, but there are more important things to worry about.